


a question of trust

by Ejunkiet



Series: the rapture in the dark [3]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Sensation Play, and banter. so much banter. There is a lot here okay, explicit sexual content (discussed before hand), he puts on a demonstration, olivia wants to know more about mason's hypersenses, on the verge of an established relationship (in everything but name), silk blindfolds and other ties, soft and smutty and deeply intimate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: Silk blindfolds and other ties. He’d asked that she trust him, and the fact of the matter was that she did.--“I feel everything.” It takes her a moment to recognise what he is saying, place the words in the chronology of the conversation. “But you - you drown it all out, until there’s just you. Only you.”He groans, a low sound that emanates from deep within his chest. “And you feel so good, sweetheart.”
Relationships: Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: the rapture in the dark [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039577
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered. - F. Scott Fitzgerald_
> 
> This is incredibly self-indulgent, and smutty, and soft, and was just really fun to write. Enjoy! :D

“Close your eyes.” 

She does as he asks without question, teeth digging into her lip as soft, silken fabric slides against her cheek, cool at first, but quickly warming to the touch. He draws the material over her eyes, his hands moving quickly to secure it firmly, enough that it will stay, but not tight enough to cause discomfort.

It feels unnecessary - he has far better eyesight than her, all they needed was a room with an appropriate level of darkness - but he had asked that she trust him, and the fact of the matter was that she did.

And still does.

And so she doesn’t say anything as he moves around her, his touch soft as a whisper against her skin, and this blindness is - new. Everything else is heightened - her awareness of him, the heat of him as he lingers, close enough that she knows he is there, but not close enough to touch.

This all started because she had been asking him questions about his heightened senses, interested in the mechanics of it - and truly, wanting to get a better idea of how much they impacted his everyday life, the limits and boundaries of it. 

There’s a lot that she knows affects him, and she's taken to cataloging the small things when she can - the face he makes as they pass Hayley’s bakery, his complete aversion to processed sugars and artificial flavours, perfumed soaps and detergents.

But there's still so much she doesn't know, and so she’s taken to asking him about it. It's subtle, just a small query, here and there - but it doesn't take him long to realise what she's doing, and it's not long after that his patience with it runs out.

 _(“Olivia.”_ His voice is exasperated as he turns to her, leveling her with a long look, his dark eyes unreadable. 

_"Mason,"_ she returns in the same tone, raising a brow at his deadpan look. She keeps her focus on the street ahead as they make their way across the square towards her office, nodding at the familiar faces she sees along the way. They’ve become a familiar sight, walking through the town, enough so that his presence at her side barely earns a second look.

He lets out a snort, and she doesn't have to look at him to know that the expression on his face is belligerent. “Why don’t I just show you?”

“Show me?" She looks at him then over her thermos, the curls of steam as pale as his eyes in the early winter light. "How?”

His lips curve into a long smile, and taking a step forward, he leans in, his eyes a grey storm as they glance over her. Reaching up, he catches a loose lock of hair, rubbing the strands beneath his fingers before he tucks them behind her ear and murmurs, “I have a few ideas.”)

His ideas are, unsurprisingly, something better discussed in private, away from those with keen senses that might overhear. The product of the conversation itself is saved for her apartment, late in the night the following week when he turns up outside her door, a glint in his eye, his lips curled with promise.

His timing couldn’t have been better, catching her just after she comes off her last shift, a long weekend ahead of her - and really, it shouldn’t surprise her that he has memorised her schedule. It has become routine, finding him on her stoop like this and letting him in, having him follow her up the stairs of her building; a habit she’s fallen into almost without realising it.

It hadn’t taken them long to come together once they were inside her apartment, his hands working quickly to help remove her gear, storing her firearm safely, before his mouth captures hers in a devouring kiss, and they’d weaved a stumbling path towards the bedroom.

Where they are now.

She shivers as his mouth catches the curve of her ear, his breath hot against the shell as he traces his lips down and presses a soft kiss to the skin behind it. “This okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Her breath catches as his mouth moves to her neck, warm kisses edged with a hint of teeth. “Although the silk was a surprise.”

His response is a low, rumbling chuckle, warm puffs of air against her skin before he touches her, finally, evoking a soft gasp as he trails his hands along her sides, slow and torturous as they map a meandering path across her skin before settling against her hips, fingers splayed, blunt nails pressing into her skin. 

“You wanted to know what it was like to experience the world like I do." His voice has dropped an octave, low and seductive. "I wanted to show you.”

She shivers again, and she can feel the shape of his smile against her throat as his hands dip a little further, smoothing down to her upper thighs until she arches back against him, swallowing a moan - before he draws back, nearly withdrawing his touch completely.

He laughs softly at her disappointed sigh, his breath soft against her hair.

“First, some ground rules.” He leans back further, his body heat leaving her for a moment, and she can hear him moving against the sheets, before he tugs her backwards into his chest, his bare skin warm against her back, a line of heat, solid and steadying.

"If it gets to be too much, or if you want to stop," His hand moves to curl back around her hip, thumb tracing the bone, his voice soft as he continues, “You’ll tell me.”

Her heart is racing in her chest. She had no expectations coming into this, can only follow his lead as she nods, taking a deep breath as she fights against the urge to fidget. She is wearing nothing but the silk tie now, her skin chilled in the cooler temperature of her apartment, and she is - intrigued. Curious. Anticipating.

“This,” he tugs gently at the fabric of the blindfold, “can come off, at any time. Do you understand?"

She nods again, but when he doesn't respond, she realises he's waiting for her verbal confirmation. "I understand."

He gives a pleased hum.

"Good girl."

His mouth is back on her skin as he says it, trailing along the line of her throat and she can't mask her reaction to his words, the heavy, sudden thump of her heart, the flood of heat that rushes through her, flushing her cheeks. She can feel the curve of his mouth before he comments on it, his voice pitched low. 

"You liked that, sweetheart?"

She huffs out a breathless laugh, more at herself then anything else. "Don't get used to it."

He chuckles again, deep and low, and she realises her mistake too late as he draws back from her, his hands settling back on her hips. “We’ll see about that.”

Before she has a chance to respond, he asks, “You ready?”

“Yes.”

He presses another soft, lingering kiss to her throat, the heat of it drawing the flush on her skin, before he pulls away completely, the mattress shifting under his weight as he moves off the bed.

Suppressing a shiver at the sudden chill, she bites her lip as his voice, soft and low, comes from somewhere behind her.

"Lie down, with your arms at your sides. Keep them there."

She complies, and shortly after hears the sound of his footsteps on the floor as he steps away from the bed, making his way across the room.

“Where are you going?” She hears the muffled sound of a zipper, the sound of heavy fabric, somewhere in the vicinity of the bedroom door - and she remembers the duffle he’d brought with him, dropped in the far corner, functional and unobtrusive.

He hums again. “Just getting ready, sweetheart.”

He’d mentioned that he’d planned on bringing a few things when they’d discussed this before - the idea, a serious conversation that had taken place after one of her shifts the previous week, when they’d been alone in the office. They’d discussed the shape of it: what it’d entail and what he’d ask of her. 

Nothing he’d planned on bringing was inherently sexual in nature - although he’d paused as he said it, taking in the way her breath had caught, his eyes dark on hers, considering, a long smirk curling his lips before he added that “ _that_ could be a topic for another time.”

Her heart is a flighty thing inside her chest, light and too fast as she waits, listening for the sound of his footsteps, her fingers flexing against the sheets - a jittery excitement, sharp and unfamiliar, filling her veins.

She tilts her head to the side as she waits for him, testing the material of the tie. The silk is soft against her skin, comfortable now that it has been warmed by her body heat, the tightly woven material blocking out the remaining light in her room after they’d turned off the lights. 

She can hear the muted rumble of traffic from the highway a few blocks over, the faint ticking of cooling metal from her old iron radiator bars, an even fainter buzzing from the electronic devices within her room - but she can’t hear him.

A soft rush of air alerts her to Mason’s return, a soft clatter from her nightstand as things are rearranged on top of it, the muted thumps of items being placed down, before the mattress dips under his weight again. 

Her breath hitches as his hand settles on her hip, the rough pad of his thumb circling there before tracing up her abdomen to her stomach, fingers splayed and dragging along her skin, almost possessive.

“My senses are heightened,” he starts, his voice low, close. “I can feel the heat of you like a brand, even before we touch. Taste the sweat on your skin from across the room.”

His mouth, then - hot and wet as he bites lightly at her shoulder, smoothing the sting with his tongue before he weaves a burning path along her clavicle, settling at the hollow of her throat. She can feel the heat of him above her, hovering, the brush of his hair against her chin, as soft as the rush of his breath as he leans in, skating across her skin.

“The salt of you lingers, but I prefer it from the source. Here,” his hands then, in her hair, tilting her head gently as he presses his mouth against the juncture of her jaw, “and here.” His free hand dips down low, sliding across her stomach before finding the crease of her thigh, fingers light and teasing, too far from where she wants him.

He pulls back, a sudden loss of heat as he moves away completely, and she can’t help her gasp, even as she bites down on her lip to stifle it.

When he returns, his touch is light enough that it sends a shiver down her spine, her skin prickling with awareness beneath his fingertips. His hand traces along her neck, the outline of her jaw, before his thumb brushes against her lower lip, pulling at the edge of it.

She opens her mouth to taste him, but he pulls away before she can.

“I don’t have much of a comparison, but the taste… can be overwhelming.”

His hand moves to curl around the back of her neck, lifting her gently, before something chilled and wet brushes against her lips.

“Open up, sweetheart. Take a bite.”

She does, biting into soft, pliable flesh, sweetness flooding her mouth, and - it’s a strawberry. The berry is ripe enough that the juice from it spills down her lips and chin, trailing to the base of her throat, and he waits until she is done before his mouth descends on hers, sharp edged and hungry, chasing the taste of it on her tongue.

He breaks away with a groan, and she struggles to catch her breath, as he licks his way down her throat, cleaning up the mess she’d made, his voice a rumble against her skin. “It tastes better on you.”

Her fingers twist in the sheets, and it’s a struggle to hold herself back as he works his hand back down her body, sliding down her abdomen before finally slipping between her legs, close and intimate against her. “But I prefer the taste of you. Right here.”

Dipping in low, his fingers curl, testing - and they both groan at the slick he finds there. 

“Already, sweetheart?” The question is almost breathless, tinged with amusement.

She isn’t sure exactly how much of her annoyance at the statement shows in her expression, but whatever he sees there is enough to make him laugh, warm in the space between them.

“That can wait until later.”

“Can it?” She can’t help but ask, as her body rolls against his hand, biting down on her frustrated groan as he pulls away, and he laughs again, low and rolling, pressing a kiss against her temple.

“Be patient. That’s a good girl.” His voice is a low purr, the words sending another shiver through her, deepening the flush she can already feel on her cheeks - and her reaction to that is definitely not something she had expected. It’s not something she thinks she will ever be able to live down, either - not after tonight.

She can feel the curve of his smile against her skin. “Got something to say, detective?”

She bites back the sharp comment waiting on her tongue, choosing instead to say nothing, and he hums again, deep and low. “Then let's continue.”

His hand sweeps across her again, follow the line of her sternum, before finally making his way to her chest - followed by his mouth, wet heat that envelopes her as she gasps, back arching into him as he palms her breast, his other hand sliding down her body to steady her hips, keeping her pinned in place. 

It’s maddening - his kisses soft and teasing, his touch heated but still light enough to make her writhe, and she wants to curse him, instead settling for his name, uttered on a gasp. _“Mason.”_

He grins against her, sharp and wicked, nipping at her skin. “Half of the pleasure is the anticipation of it, sweetheart.”

She wants to hit him, her fingers twisting in the sheets beneath her. His grip flexes on her hip before he returns his mouth to her skin, placing a feather light kiss against her sternum before he murmurs, “I love tasting you here.

“Your blood rises,” the heat of his palm moving up, pressing against her sternum, over where his mouth had been moments before, “and I can feel the life of you.”

His mouth descends on her chest again, and he _finally_ touches her properly, tongue swirling against her skin as he pinches her nipple with his other hand - and it’s nearly overwhelming after all the teasing, her flushed skin stretched tight and hot, the sensations building faster than before.

It’s distracting enough that she barely notices when the hand at her hip pulls away, rifling through the items on top of her nightstand, before returning - with something wet and even colder than before, the drips freezing against the curve of her breast as she lets out a gasp, jerking back against the sheets.

Her muttered curse is met with a rolling chuckle, before his mouth presses against her skin with tongue and teeth, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses, following the path of the freezing droplets, a clash of sensations, and _shit_ -

He pulls away from her chest, and she can hear a soft clink - before he moves back to her and captures her mouth in another kiss, his lips chilled and wet and _hot_ , and that must be ice between his teeth, as his other hand returns to her body, chilled fingertips following the curve of her abdomen and dipping back between her legs.

She arches into him with a moan, swallowed by his mouth as he consumes her, the ice melting rapidly between them, enveloped by the sensation - his mouth and tongue, the slow work of his fingers, winding her up, methodical and precise.

He breaks away from her mouth to make his way back down her throat, settling in his favourite spot - the one right below her jaw, as his fingers curl into her again, just enough to make her gasp, before he draws back again, dragging them up her body.

The soft pad of his fingers brush against her lips, a question, and she accepts them, tasting herself on his skin as his thumb rubs at the corner of her mouth. 

“That’s it.” His voice is hoarse, punched out as he removes his fingers, replacing them with his mouth, chasing the taste of her on her tongue as he groans, deep and low, a reverberation she can feel in his chest as he presses closer. “You taste so good.”

The bed shifts as he moves, shifting his weight until she can feel the weight of him above her, feel the heat of him above her, so close and yet not quite enough, and her fingers twist in the sheets, aching to touch him -

As if he can read her thoughts, he breaks away from the kiss, settling against her throat - “not yet. Just a little more.”

He reaches back towards the side table, and then-

More freezing drips of liquid make contact with her skin, sharp against her heated skin - her chest, her stomach, her thighs, chased by the heat of his mouth, a flux of hot and cold that’s almost overwhelming. He keeps his touches light, unpredictable, and the tension swirls within her until she’s wound so tight she could _snap._

 _“Mason,”_ she gasps again, the word sharp and edged with something like a whine as he pulls away completely again, and her tenuous hold on her self-control breaks. _“Please.”_

He makes a sound then, low and guttural and edged with a growl, before he’s moving again, hands dragging along her stomach, her abdomen, down to her thighs as the bed tilts beneath his weight, palms warm and heavy as he settles between her legs.

The heat of his breath against her is the only warning she gets before she feels the broad sweep of his tongue, wrenching a cry from her throat as his hands curl around her hips, holding her steady. 

Her nails drag against the sheets as his lips finally enclose around the place she wants him most, the wet heat of his mouth and the slow, torturous roll of his tongue, and it's almost - overwhelming.

All she can focus on are the sensations. Between his mouth and his hands, it feels like he is _everywhere_ , the tension in her stomach coiling tighter and tighter, and she wants to reach out to him, needs to feel him beneath her hands-

" _Mason_ ," she cries out again, fingers scrambling against the sheets, and he draws back, his mouth wet and sharp as it drags against her thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her hip.

“Want to touch me, sweetheart?” He murmurs, sealing the words with a soft bite to her inner thigh, and she shivers at the contact, fingers twisting as she bites her lip to contain a whine of frustration. “Go ahead.”

That’s all the permission she needs. Sinking her hands into the soft, silken lengths of his hair, she guides him to where she wants him, his growl reverberating between them as he licks into her again, and _shit._

She comes embarrassingly quickly under his mouth, his hands firm on her hips, keeping her in place as she arches back against the sheets, her fingers tangling impossibly in his hair even as she tries to ease her grip, keep from pulling too sharply.

(His low groan makes her think he doesn’t mind it, _likes it_ even - and that’s another thing to think more on later.)

He switches from his mouth to his hands as he works her through the aftershocks, and she knows he’s watching her, can feel the weight of his gaze without seeing it as his grip flexes on her hip and he shifts against the sheets.

Tilting his head to the side, he presses his mouth to her skin, marking the inside of her thigh with a reminder she knows she will carry with her for days, tracing the words there. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

Shaking and breathless, she can’t wait anymore - and her hands slip down to his neck, his shoulders, urging him _up._

With a low chuckle, he complies, trailing a line of searing, biting kisses back up her body, leaving another mark on her breast until she squirms beneath his grip and tugs gently at his hair again, guiding him up to meet her as his body settles back between her legs.

He’s searing, blazing heat as she wraps herself around him, bringing him in closer until she can feel the press of his arousal against her thigh, his mouth on hers all-consuming, heated and sharp, and she - she wants _more_ , the heat stirring in her gut as she arches her body against his.

Breaking away from the kiss, she gasps out his name again. _“Mason.”_

His mouth moves down to her jaw, her throat, and she can feel the sharp edges of his teeth against the sensitive skin there as he murmurs, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

 _“You._ All of you.”

His breath stutters, she can feel the hitch of it against her throat, before he moves again, his hand trailing down her body to where they're almost joined, circling her center as he readjusts his position - before he’s pressing into her with a low groan.

His forehead finds hers as he exhales sharply. _“Fuck, Olivia.”_

She sighs into his mouth as he shifts, feeling herself adjust as he begins to move, his pace steady and rolling, and she loses herself to the sensation - everything amplified by the loss of her sight, the feeling of him surrounding her, _within her,_ chased by the feeling of his mouth and teeth and hands.

Their rhythm picks up, that familiar swell of tension building again, and it's almost overwhelming in its intensity, an unravelling that happens in stages until she’s breathless and teetering on the edge once more. 

“I feel everything.” It takes her a moment to recognise what he is saying, place the words in the chronology of the conversation. “But you - you drown it all out, until there’s just you. Only you.”

He groans, a low sound that emanates from deep within his chest. “And you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Her breath catches as his hips jerk forward, his hold on his self-control faltering, and blindly, she reaches for him. “Mason-” 

“Hush, sweetheart.” His hand finds hers, fingers entwining as he presses them back against the sheets by her head, and she can feel the heat of his mouth, sloppy and wet against her wrist. “I’m here.”

It doesn't take long that second time either, both fueled by the urgency of the moment, and they crest the wave of pleasure together, panting into each other’s mouths, kisses messy, fleeting moments of connection as they tremble through the aftermath.

His free hand smooths across her forehead, her cheek, before trailing back through her hair, fingers working at the knot of the tie until he can remove it, keeping his movements gentle, giving her time to adjust as she blinks at the sudden return of her sight.

The first thing she sees is him: tan skin flushed dark beneath his freckles, his storm grey eyes warm as he hovers over her, warm palm cupped against the side of her face as his thumb trails down her cheek, tracing over her mouth.

"Hello, sweetheart."

He kisses her, then, softly, softer than any of his kisses have been that night, deepening slowly, like he wants to memorize this moment, the shape and taste of her, and a bubble of feeling swells in the centre of her chest, vast and unknowable, unnamed.

It’s with a sigh he pulls away, finally, dropping back onto his side, and they’re a mess, really, and she should get up - but then he curls his arm around her, pulling her in closer until he can tuck her against his chest, and she can’t find the will, let alone the strength, to move. 

Burying his face into her hair, his breath warm against the back of her neck, he murmurs. "Sleep, Olivia.”

His fingers run through her hair, slow and soothing, and exhausted, she lets herself drift, slipping into the comforting depths of sleep.

\--

(It's a long time before Mason does anything but hold her within his arms. There's that strange tightness inside of his chest again, and he knows enough, now, to recognise the flutterings of the unnamed emotion within it, even if he still doesn't quite understand it.)

(But - he thinks, he thinks he wants to.)

\--

She wakes up to the faint smell of tobacco smoke, caught on a breeze through her half-open window, the light outside a pale blue, a prelude to dawn.

Her limbs are pleasantly heavy, comfortable, and convincing herself to move is not an easy task, but she manages it, somehow.

"Mason."

He glances back at her from where he's perched on the fire escape, storm grey eyes glinting in the pale light.

This isn’t the first time he’s stayed over, but he doesn’t make a habit of it.

She shivers as the night chill seeps through her clothing, and she moves to close her robe more firmly around herself, watching as his eyes track the movement, growing heavy lidded as his tongue swipes at his lower lip before they flick back up to meet her gaze.

"How're you feeling, sweetheart?"

She shifts, testing herself. “Good.” More than good. She feels rested, for the first time in weeks, tension she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying eased from her shoulders. 

It’s a welcome relief, after the stress of the last few months since summer. There was always another problem, another case that needed the joint attention of the station and the agency - and juggling the responsibilities of both positions had taken a toll.

He finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out on the metal stair and flicking it over the railing, his lips lifting into a smirk at her annoyed glance as he gets to his feet.

Resting his arm above the window frame, he leans in, close enough that she can see the dark halo of his iris, smell the mix of cedar and tobacco she’s come to associate with him.

His hand reaches up to curl against her cheek, his fingers chill against her skin as he runs the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, before he dips in, pressing his mouth against hers.

He tastes like smoke, but it fades as the kiss deepens, his thumb trailing along her jaw as he tilts his head and licks into her mouth, and it’s slow and easy, something soft to match the gentle haze that covers everything in the early morning.

She can feel the shape of his smile against her lips as he pulls back, dark eyes glittering as they flicker across her features one last time. “See you in a couple hours.”

Stepping back, he pushes off the fire escape and drops into the parking lot, disappearing in a blur of movement into the lengthening shadows as she leans over the frame to watch, following the shape of him until he’s gone.

She stays there for a long moment, her breath misting in the chill air, before she turns back inside.


	2. bonus (unseen scene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason enjoys the quiet of the morning. 
> 
> \--
> 
> _He thinks about what Nate would say. Find the words._
> 
> _They don’t come easily to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them. Too many of them, crowding his throat, his tongue - pressing at his teeth, heavy and weighted and sharp._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little expansion of that moment before Olivia wakes up.... and also represents the furthest point in Mason and Olivia timeline I’ve explored so far. 
> 
> **Prompt:** things you said when you thought I was asleep.
> 
> I have a valentines day special in the works set around this time too - keep an eye out for it in a few weeks! <3

It’s in the early hours of the morning that he stirs, breaking away from the warm tangle of sheets and limbs, the heat lingering on his skin as he slides his feet to the floor, the wooden boards chill against his bare soles.

It’s the time of the day that Mason likes best: the sounds of urban living quieter in the small hours, hushed in the shadows that have taken over the city. The light of the approaching dawn has started to crest the horizon, bringing with it creeping numbness, a reprieve from the overbearing weight of his senses, and it’s a relief that he anticipates - looks forward to, even.

Of course, there are other things to look forward to, as well.

The sound of movement draws his attention back to the bed - a soft sigh accompanying the muffled rustling of sheets as the detective curls into the space he’d just vacated, delicate features pinched into a frown before they smooth back into the peaceful mask of sleep.

He leans in closer, caught by the fall of the growing shadows across the gentle curve of her cheek, rosey with warmth, her lips parted to reveal a gleam of white teeth.

(She’s softer, like this; the tension that tightens her jaw and creases her brow gone, her mouth slack with sleep. The ease with which she relaxes in his presence, completely unguarded, never fails to surprise him.) 

There’s that familiar-unfamiliar stirring in his chest, his hand reaching out to trace her silhouette before he can stop himself, trailing down to the delicate arch of her lips. He can feel her breath against the back of his fingers, the soft rush of air that accompanies the gentle cadence of her heart beat; feel the heat of her this close to her skin, radiating out.

All of his senses are attuned to her, tracking the minute changes in her breathing, the subtle way she stirs when he withdraws his touch, pressing his palm back against the sheets.

It’s not something Mason had expected when they first started this. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than sex - she’d been looking for a distraction in the aftermath of another supernatural home invasion, and he’d been all too happy to provide it. And it was _good,_ better than he’d had in a long time - and so when he found himself turning up at her door the night after, he didn’t question it. 

Once, twice, three times - enough to become a habit, and if he wasn’t looking elsewhere, it was because he didn’t need to, not when he had everything he wanted right here.

Nearly six months later, the excuse is wavering, paper-thin.

It’s not an excuse anymore. Not really.

 _I’m enjoying watching you experience this._ It had been said with a smile and a heavy side of amusement, and he’s not sure if he feels grateful for the words that had lingered in the back of his mind over the last few months, or irritated that the man couldn’t have made his point clearer. 

As it was, it had taken him too long to figure it out. Connect the feelings to ideas, thoughts that made sense. Recognise that this feeling of _wanting_ wasn’t just the lust, curling and familiar in his gut - but something else. Something more.

A soft exhale - another sigh, as soft as a caress, and he can’t stop looking at her.

He thinks about what Nate would say. _Find the words._

They don’t come easily to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them. Too many of them, crowding his throat, his tongue - pressing at his teeth, heavy and weighted and sharp.

(I can’t get you off my mind. I want you around, all the time. Don’t leave me.)

Too much, too soon.

The pillow beneath her head is stained a dull silver in the early morning light, the dark strands of her hair india ink against the pillows, cheeks dusted pink beneath feathered lashes, and there’s that fluttering again, unmistakable and impossible all at once.

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart?”

Her only response is another soft exhale and the gentle, steady cadence of her heartbeat. He stays for another long moment, unable to leave, memorising the soft lines of her face, before he pushes himself to his feet.

Slipping on his shirt and jacket, he makes his way to the balcony and lights a cigarette. 

(It's his first of the week.)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments greatly appreciated! Come chat with me on my tumblr (ejunkiet)!


End file.
